


Promise You'll Remember

by actualite



Series: Blue Collar [3]
Category: Baseball RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Boston Red Sox, M/M, Texas Rangers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-02
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-12-10 04:20:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/781711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualite/pseuds/actualite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian reflects on the ways he and Salty have grown apart over the years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Promise You'll Remember

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place after the events in [Deliver Hope](http://archiveofourown.org/works/716787) and [Days Don't Fade](http://archiveofourown.org/works/716793).

Unfortunately, separate bedrooms in their brand new house had been Ian's idea.

Salty's Grout Doctor business had grown steadily after those first couple of slow years, and now, nearly six years later, he had his own company, Jarrod's Custom Design and Remodeling LLC, that specialized in remodeling and refitting bathrooms. He had two other guys working for him and had even hired a girl to answer the phone and keep the books.

After the first four years, Salty had paid off his initial loans and their credit card debt, and they both decided that work was steady enough that they could afford to buy a house. And not just any house--not some fixer starter home in a shitty neighborhood. Salty, it turned out, wanted to buy a house with a pool and a patio and enough bedrooms that they could have family and friends over to visit and not have to put people up on the couch. It was so strange, Ian reflected, that they could afford to think in those terms when just a few years ago they'd been mired in debt, living in crappy apartments, moving nearly every year, and subsisting mostly on cereal and frozen pizza. But being in a position to buy a nice house in a suburban neighborhood was all thanks to Salty, since though Ian had finally found a steady job that he actually kind of liked, he didn't make nearly enough to feel justified in having too many opinions about how and on what their money was spent.

Salty was incredibly hardworking, but Ian had known that from the beginning--even when they'd been playing pro ball, which basically meant messing around, drinking and partying and playing pranks on your teammates and then playing a game every night, Ian had been impressed with how seriously Salty took his job, how early he was up and at the park every morning and how diligent he was about working out and trying to find those routines that worked and yielded the best results. Ian had worked hard too, but he remembered thinking at the time that Salty always appeared to be trying a little _too_ hard.

But trying too hard in baseball, where it sometimes seemed like half the battle was making other guys respect you and fitting into the team, was very different from trying too hard to succeed in a business environment. Showing that you were willing to go the extra mile meant the difference between being fired and being referred to all your client's friends. Whereas Salty's conscientious toiling on a basbeall team had made some of the other guys resent him because it seemed like he held himself above everyone else, customers loved Salty for his dedication. Salty's desire to please on the team had made other guys dismissive or irritated, but his pleasant demeanor and eagerness charmed his customers, many of whom were rich housewives with not a lot to do except dream up ways to remodel their houses every couple of years. Ian could hardly believe the speed with which Salty's business had grown.

As the business grew, of course, so had Salty's social circle. He found himself invited to barbecues and beach parties and was asked to play golf and go to football and basketball games. He was even asked to coach a client's son's little league team, which he regretfully turned down, though Ian knew that he'd really wanted to. Sometimes he brought Ian along if there were extra tickets to a game or something, and everyone knew Ian as one of Salty's best friends. But other times, Ian knew it would be best if he didn't go, since it would look weird to people if Salty showed up to someone's housewarming party with his roommate.

The first guy Salty had hired on was his cousin, Travis, which hadn't made much of a difference, and Ian still showed up any time he wanted at the cramped little "office" Salty had rented out. But when Salty hired a guy named Dimitri, a big Greek guy with tons of contracting experience who was at least 15 years older than both of them, and then rented out nicer office space and hired an office manager and bookkeeper named Trisha, Ian began to avoid dropping by at all, afraid of what Dimitri and Trisha might think. It used to be that after Ian's shift was over he would drop by wherever Salty was working and bring him lunch, or wait for Salty to finish up at the end of the day so Ian could get a ride home in the pickup, before they'd gotten Ian a car. But that was over, and Ian was sure that Salty would be glad Ian never came by to interrupt their work or give Salty's three employees the wrong idea about their relationship. Ian remembered all too well how guys on their team had treated Salty, and to a lesser extent Ian, when they'd caught the two of them necking in the hallway that one terrible night. Ian didn't want to ruin things for Salty now that things were finally going well for him, didn't want to upset his authority with his employees or give clients any reason to avoid working with him.

Ian himself was working as an associate producer at ESPN West Palm, a job that he'd gotten through one of Salty's clients. Ian remembered very distinctly the day Salty had come home unexpectedly in the morning and told Ian that he had an interview at the radio station, and Ian had barely even moved from where he'd been lying on the couch watching a rerun of Pawn Stars.

"Hey," Salty said, and Ian finally turned away from the TV. Salty had looked particularly sharp that day, despite his work boots and tool belt. He looked clean-cut and had his shiny new watch on and a shirt that was really enhanced by his impeccable posture, and Ian remembered regretting the fact that he hadn't shaved that day and was still in his boxers.

"A job interview?" Ian said, trying to remember what Salty had just said to him.

"Yeah," Salty said, his gaze moving over to the coffee table, which was strewn with beer cans, an empty potato chip bag, and lots of sunflower seed shells.

"Okay," Ian said, sitting up and scratching his stomach, which was really starting to pooch out. It was hard to get excited at the prospect of yet another interview. He'd been unemployed for nearly a year by that time, and what really sucked was that he'd pretty much stopped caring. "Where?"

"You'll never guess," Salty said, grinning suddenly, and Ian felt his heart stutter a little at the sight. Even after all these years Salty could jolt him out of his apathy just by smiling. Ian loved him so much it literally hurt sometimes.

"Yeah, I probably won't," Ian said sourly, his feelings of inadequacy and self-loathing stirring up the bile in his stomach unpleasantly in the face of Salty's infinite ebullience.

"At ESPN West Palm," Salty continued excitedly, undaunted by Ian's demeanor. "Like, the radio station. This lady Travis is putting tile in for now, her husband produces a couple of the shows on there, and he's looking for some help with booking guys and research and programming ideas and stuff. I told him you'd be perfect for it."

"Uh," Ian said, already knowing he wouldn't get the job, "sounds cool, but I don't think I'm really qualified for that--"

"What are you talking about?" Salty said, and Ian didn't know if he was imagining the note of impatience and frustration in Salty's voice or not. Either way, it made him feel defensive and surly as he wished he were someone who wasn't just a deadbeat slug who couldn't hold down any kind of job and just sat around at home on the couch waiting for his boyfriend to come home, hoping that he'd still want to have sex with someone as pathetic as Ian felt.

"I have literally zero experience doing any of those things," Ian said, turning back to the TV. "I'm fucking sick of putting on a tie and begging for minimum wage jobs when there are like 75 applicants who've finished college and have 10 years' experience saving the world or whatever."

Salty didn't answer, and Ian wished he hadn't said any of that, knowing how defeatist and insufferable it made him sound, but every day his spiral of depression tunneled a little deeper, and now that he'd established himself as this person he somehow couldn't see the way to reversing it.

A few moments later Ian was startled by the feeling of a bundle of clothes flopping down on his ass.

"Put those on," Salty said, reaching over Ian to pick up the remote and turn the TV off.

"What the fuck?" Ian said, sitting up and glaring at Salty.

"You gotta shave and get dressed. The interview's in about 45 minutes. Don't embarrass me by not showing up when I promised you'd be there."

"It's today? Like _now_? I'm not even prepared. Who asked you to get me a fucking interview?" Ian said explosively, angry at Salty's brisk, parental tone and beginning to feel nervous at the prospect of more failure and disappointment on the horizon.

"Yeah, he says he wants someone to start right away. You need to shower? Where's your résumé?"

"Just fucking--stop!" Ian shouted.

Salty paused and turned around.

"Why are you making me do this?" Ian said.

"What, making you take advantage of an opportunity?" Salty said, and that's when Ian was sure he wasn't imagining the disgust and annoyance in Salty's voice.

Ian felt like crying. His confidence was completely shot. Everything in his life had been a failure except Salty, and now he was losing Salty, too, but couldn't seem to do anything except speed the process along, spurred on by some strange need to wallow in his inadequacy, as if he wanted to force Salty to either prove he would love Ian no matter what or just kick him out already, and too proud to acknowledge out loud what he wanted and needed. Salty had been doing so well, not because of Ian but in spite of him, and here he was trying to help Ian do well too but Ian had nothing to bring to the table except horrible luck, extreme selfishness and an inability to finish anything he started.

"You need to stop feeling sorry for yourself," Salty continued, his voice sounding to Ian like it was coming from far away. "You're smart--you're the smartest person I know, and you know more than anyone at that radio station about any sport I can think of. Just go in there and show them who you are. You'll do great."

The rushing in Ian's ears subsided a little, and he thought about how maybe this job interview was a final warning, their future in the balance. Maybe, Ian thought, maybe getting or not getting this job would be the answer to the questions he kept asking himself about the choices he'd made, about their future, about what was really in store for them now that Salty had changed so much and made something of himself when Ian was still stuck back in that place he'd been in the day Salty walked into the hospital to pick him up.

He didn't say anything to Salty then and left half an hour later, showered, shaved, dressed, a slightly crinkled resume in hand, without a word, even when Salty wished him good luck. As he drove to the interview he had to stop and throw up on the side of the road, so sure was he that if he failed at this, too, which he absolutely would, it meant the end of everything, and he'd have to leave Salty and go crawling back to Tucson to beg his dad for money before Salty threw him out for being worthless.

But miraculously, that's not how things went at all. The interview didn't even take five minutes, his new boss friendly but distracted since it seemed that he'd already made up his mind and just wanted to make sure Ian could use a phone and a computer, and suddenly Ian was employed again.

Salty had been very happy when Ian told him, and they'd gone out to dinner to celebrate, but Ian couldn't help feeling a little hollow, knowing that he hadn't earned this on his own merit, that he now owed even more to Salty, and wondering how Salty could even respect, let alone love, a person so helpless.

It did spur Ian to try as hard as he could at something again, though--the first time since he'd been playing baseball that he'd had that feeling. He meant to prove himself, to finally stick with something again and show that he had a work ethic too, that he wouldn't need so much help from Salty ever again, that he was man enough to hold down a job and contribute and be more than dead weight to Salty.

With that in mind, he threw himself into his work, and to his surprise he was actually very good at it. Salty had been right, of course, because he pretty much always was, if Ian took the trouble of listening to him. Having begun as an assistant, he soon worked himself up to being an associate producer, with a producer position on the not-so-distant horizon. He had a great relationship with everyone at the station, his knowledge and analysis proving extremely useful and his background in baseball and familiarity with clubhouse culture serving him well when it came to establishing relationships with athletes and coaches who became regular guests on their programs.

He also became very circumspect about his relationship with Salty. It became very important to Ian that no hint of their true relationship should come out in his own work, not only because of the jock culture that prevailed at the station and among their audience, but because he didn't want any hint of homophobia to taint Salty's business. Salty had introduced Ian's name to Ian's boss as a friend, of course, and that was all they would be to everyone, Ian resolved.

When they'd decided to buy the house, then, or rather Salty decided and asked for Ian's approval, which Ian gave readily, knowing it was what Salty wanted, Ian had insisted that they set up separate bedrooms in case anyone came over.

"Then we can say I'm just renting a room from you," Ian said.

"But I can still sleep with you, right?" Salty had asked, sounding a little anxious.

"Yeah, unless someone's staying over," Ian said.

The exact sequence of events that led to them actually sleeping apart was something that Ian went over in his mind many times, each step of it seeming so needless and preventable in hindsight, but by the time Ian realized this things had gone too far for Ian to be able to imagine a way to fix them. The tension had probably begun long before things erupted, but the true catalyst, Ian thought, must've been when one of Ian's cousins moved to Florida and needed a place to crash while he got settled.

Ian slept in one of the guest bedrooms and Salty slept in the master, since Ian hadn't officially come out to his family, though he knew his parents probably suspected and that it was a big component of his dad's disappointment in him. They'd set up the one guest bedroom to look like his; Ian kept all his clothes and things in there, though he only ever went into the room to get things, unless someone was staying over.

Ian's cousin ended up staying far longer than he'd said he would, of course, and Ian and Salty were both working so hard that it didn't end up mattering very much that they hardly saw each other. Ian was out of the house very early in the morning, and Salty often didn't get home until very late. When they were both home Ian's cousin was usually around eating all their food and hogging couch space, and if they went out it was with a bunch of other people, so Ian and Salty never had very much alone time.

After many weeks of this, they'd had a fight about something one day when Ian's cousin wasn't home, something very stupid that Ian couldn't even remember--something about laundry, because Ian hated doing that more than any other household chore. It began with the triviality of laundry but escalated with alarming speed and intensity into something else entirely, no doubt fueled by the stress they were both under at their respective jobs and the fact that they'd been pretending for nearly three months to be platonic roommates. Ian, never really able to control his temper very well in the heat of the moment, began flinging accusations at Salty that really had nothing to do with him and everything to do with Ian's own fears about himself, his own insecurities and paranoia, and Salty shouted back that Ian never thought of anyone but himself and didn't give a damn about how his words and actions affected other people.

That hurt Ian deeply. He'd always counted on the fact that Salty knew him better, knew the real Ian that no one else knew, the one who might bluster and pretend not to care about anyone but felt so utterly and hopelessly dependent on Salty's approval and love that he was trying his hardest to be someone Salty wouldn't despise. He was working so hard at his job and trying never to complain about the time Salty spent with his new friends and clients without Ian, and he was trying never to demand Salty's attention and take up his time, but it turned out that none of it was working and all Salty saw was Ian being selfish.

It felt so incredibly unfair, but hearing Salty say it seemed like his worst feelings realized, and the rage and humiliation and sense of injustice welled up in him so thick and strong that Ian felt like he was going to choke on it. Without even thinking, Ian picked up a picture frame off of the mantel and hurled it at the wall behind Salty's head, calling him the worst names he could think of and trembling with rage.

Salty had walked out, and Ian had screamed after him that they were done, it was over, and Salty could go fuck himself.

Ian regretted everything almost as soon as it was over, wishing that trying to pair up Salty's socks didn't have the ability to make him fly off the handle so much. His cousin came back shortly afterward and Ian had had to pretend like nothing was wrong, though he was in such a bad mood that he ended up asking point blank when he was leaving or if he was going to start paying rent or what. For the rest of the evening Ian waited for Salty to come back, wanting to just see Salty, even if they couldn't talk with Ian's cousin hanging around. Maybe it would even be better that way, because they could act normal and Ian could get some kind of confirmation that things hadn't been damaged irreparably without having to apologize or have some kind of awkward conversation about the things that had been said.

But Salty didn't come back that night. Ian lay awake until nearly 2 AM, very late for him since he had to be up at 4 AM to get to work by 4:45, listening for the sound of Salty's truck, but it never came.

Ian wondered for the first time ever if Salty had someone else he could spend the night with. He couldn't believe that nearly ten years into their relationship, the thought that Salty could cheat on him had never occurred to him until now. It was a deeply disturbing thought, not only because of the idea of Salty fucking someone else, but because Ian had honestly never even thought about the possibility. Why had he been so complacent, so sure of Salty? Ian _was_ selfish. Salty probably felt unappreciated and taken for granted because of all those years that Ian had let himself go and not given a thought to the fact that Salty might be able to do better. He supposed back in the early days when they'd done everything together and had no friends the idea of Salty cheating on his way to CVS to buy lube would've been ludicrous, but now they spent so much time apart and Salty knew so many people that Ian realized it was stupid to think that he wouldn't cheat, maybe with a woman, even, or at least that he had to pass up many opportunities to do so. He was so big and strong, like something out of a fantasy, driving around in his truck, often with a toolbelt on, his expressive and sympathetic brown eyes always so kind as he gave everyone he spoke to his whole attention and focus. Ian thought of all the bored housewives Salty dealt with every day, and thought it would be miraculous if nothing had happened already.

He got up in the morning feeling unrested and depressed, and when he got to work he was distracted and extremely rude to everyone, especially the intern. And then he got even more mad at himself, since taking things out on the intern because he was going through his own personal problems was probably exactly the kind of thing Salty was talking about.

That night Ian's cousin finally announced that he would be moving out, making Ian wish that he had laid down a timeline a little sooner. Ian did see some evidence that Salty had been home--discarded clothes in the laundry hamper in the master bedroom and an empty peanut butter jar on the counter--but he must've gone out again.

He did hear Salty come home late that night but Ian was out again early in the morning and their paths did not cross.

That weekend Ian's cousin moved out. Salty was gone when he left, probably working, or maybe he was out playing golf with one of his new best friends, Ian thought bitterly.

All that evening Ian couldn't make up his mind about what to do when Salty returned, now that his cousin had left and they had the house to themselves again. He nearly made up his mind to just crawl into their bed in the master bedroom and wait for Salty there, hoping that they could patch things up under the sheets like they usually did--sex had always been the thing they did best and went a long way towards solving any problems that cropped up between them. But as he stood in the doorway of the bedroom, the house empty and silent, Ian suddenly felt like the bed was not his anymore. The covers were in disarray, both pillows dented where Salty's head must've rested on them. There was a watch and one of his gaudy gold necklaces on the dresser and a bunch of business cards and change scattered next to them, plus an assortment of pens, screws, washers and what appeared to be a lug nut. Probably stuff that came out of his pockets, the stuff that rattled around in the washing machine when Salty forgot to empty his pockets before laundry.

There was no evidence whatsoever that Ian belonged in this room too. There were no pictures of the two of them anywhere, even though Salty had gotten many framed and used to have them sitting out around the house. Ian had boxed them up and put them in the garage under some other things in case his cousin snooped around. Everything in the room--the paint and the bedcovers and the clothes strewn around--was in the bright, cheerful colors that Salty favored. Salty had chosen most of the furniture for the room, and Ian had no interest in decorating so he hadn't really offered any opinions when asked. As he looked around at the room Ian found it difficult to believe that he had ever slept in the bed without thinking twice about it--that he had been so intimate with Salty, the person who loved these bright colors, whose cheerful sloppiness imbued this chaos with some kind of charm. Ian could smell Salty very faintly, a hint of his aftershave and the warm hook of something that Ian associated with the broad expanse of Salty's shoulders, the space between his chin and his collarbone, the tiny tendrils of his curly hair that stuck to the back of his neck when he was sweaty, that Ian felt under his hands as he reached up to hold on to something.

Ian backed away from the door, inexplicably angry again, and went back to the still order of his own room with its minimalist furniture and the dark colors he favored.

He didn't know what time it was when he heard Salty come in, but as he lay there listening to Salty move around downstairs, he felt his eyes begin to water suddenly. _Why now?_ he thought, frustrated at his own unmanliness, but there was no answer for that. He cried alone in the dark, his door shut, wiping at his face with his hand and turning toward the window. Several moments later he heard Salty coming up the stairs, and then things were quiet. Ian thought Salty must've gone into his bedroom, but a few moments later he was startled by a quiet knock on his door.

Ian froze in the bed, his heart beating wildly. He wanted to move, he wanted to open the door, he wanted to turn around and invite Salty in, but for some reason he was petrified, a sob still trying to claw its way up through his throat. He could tell that his face was probably swollen and his eyes red-rimmed, and he couldn't move.

"Ian?" he heard Salty say quietly. "Are you awake?"

Ian suddenly imagined Salty saying that they needed to talk, that he wanted Ian to move out, or more likely that he would offer to move out and give Ian the house or something ridiculous. Ian was afraid, so afraid of what Salty would say, that after Ian's terrible last words to Salty things really had changed forever, and still he could not move.

He acknowledged to himself later that what he'd really wanted was for Salty to just come in, to reach for Ian and draw him close, to invade Ian's space and envelop everything therein, swallow it all. But Salty didn't. He just walked away, and Ian cried himself to sleep.

It was the only time he let himself cry about it, though, and they'd been living as roommates ever since. Ian threw himself into his work, spending a lot of time coordinating and organizing efforts to get local show hosts out in the community and broadcasting from different locations. He was often out at sports events during the day and sports bars at night and charity events on the weekends. He spent a lot of his spare time working out at the gym and joined an intramural basketball league, making some new friends and trying to enjoy himself without Saty.

He and Salty crossed paths occasionally at the house, but they spoke as if they weren't even friends, just friendly acquaintances. Salty did his own laundry and Ian vacuumed his own bedroom. He purposely avoided Salty if he could, dreading what a conversation would bring--perhaps news of Salty having met someone else, or wondering if Ian were planning to move out. If he saw Salty watching football in the den he went up to his own room to play a game online, and if he was using the TV downstairs Salty might make phone calls in the dining room, (which Ian eavesdropped on furtively, though they seemed to mostly be phone calls with his mom and brother) and then go up to his bedroom eventually.

Ian wished he had never insisted on setting up separate bedrooms. He wished he had never said yes to his cousin's request to stay. He wished he'd had the courage to come out to his family so that it hadn't been necessary to hide his relationship from his cousin. He wished that he hadn't picked a fight with Salty over something so meaningless, and he wished that his own insecurities and terrible temper hadn't led him to say things he couldn't easily take back.

But mostly he wished that they were still young and poor and desperately in love, needing nothing but each other and having nothing more to live for than that. They'd been irresponsible idiots, for sure, but it was the happiest time of Ian's life and he wished he'd known how soon it would all fade. Every day he was afraid that it would be either his last day in their house or Salty's, but even though he thought constantly of leaving preemptively, before he could be kicked out or otherwise forced to leave Florida because there was nothing holding him there anymore if Salty had a new life, he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He remembered how, in the beginning, he had somehow felt like he had always held the upper hand in their relationship. Maybe it was the fact that he'd always had more status on the team, that he was older, that he seemed to know better how to make friends and act appropriately in social situations with their peers. Or maybe it was just the fact that Salty had always made Ian feel so worshipped, as if Salty counted himself the luckiest guy in the world that Ian would even look at him. Ian could see now that that had been dangerous. Now the tables had turned completely and Ian wasn't prepared. He didn't know how to be the one at a disadvantage. It felt terrible, not to have the security of Salty's unconditional and adoring love, to feel like the one who needed more. Salty was humble enough to ask for what he needed from Ian, but Ian didn't know how to ask Salty now, because he wasn't humble and he didn't have the kind of open and unselfconscious disposition that Salty did.

Besides, Ian thought unhappily, someone like Salty asking for something was very different. How could anyone say no to him? He was practically perfect, his only faults being the fact that he was a little too trusting, that he occasionally lacked discernment and that he was a little messy. Oh, and that he tended to lose socks. But he was so fucking attractive and generous and considerate. And now he was rich, too. Of course he couldn't have been in any doubt that Ian would want to be with him forever. Ian would never have that kind of certainty.

By the time Salty's birthday rolled around, this had been going on for nearly five months. Salty's birthday was always a special day for them because it was also their anniversary. Sometimes Salty would surprise Ian with an anniversary present before Ian even had the chance to wish him a happy birthday, and the day would turn out to be more about celebrating Ian's arrival in Salty's life rather than Salty's arrival in the world. There had been times when Ian had felt so comfortable and complacent in their relationship that he'd forgotten the day completely. But this year for weeks ahead of the date he dreaded its approach, wondering if he would even still be living in the same house as Salty by the time it arrived, and if he were, how or whether he should even acknowledge it. He supposed he should, even as a roommate, but nothing he could think of to buy Salty seemed like a good idea, everything either too personal or too impersonal, too extravagant or too cheap.

He had to be at the station an hour early on Thursday mornings, so he left the house at 3:30 AM and worked until noon. All morning his hands felt clammy and like his stomach was twisted in knots. By the time he got off he had decided that he was going to go to Salty and say he was sorry for everything he'd said. He was going to lay it all out for Salty, to humble himself completely and be the one to ask Salty to go back to the way things had been, to assure him that Ian would try twice as hard, three times even, whatever it took.

Since it was around noon and he used to bring Salty lunch before he'd gotten a real job and before Salty had hired his employees, Ian thought it might help if he harkened back to this little ritual. Remembering their very first meal together, which had been sandwiches from Arby's, he got exactly the same order and drove out to Salty's office. He hadn't been to Arby's in years and honestly felt like his taste had matured to the point where he could probably go the rest of his life without going to Arby's ever again, but they had a nostalgic significance that no fancy meal could recapture in the same way.

His heart was beating rapidly as he got out of the car. He made his way slowly toward the entrance of the office, which was in a small building in front of a fenced area where Salty stored materials and equipment. Ian saw Salty's truck parked in one of the spaces, but neither of the other trucks were present, which was good, since it meant Travis and Dimitri were probably on site. There was another car parked next to Salty's truck, though--probably Trisha's, since she spent all day at the office.

As he approached he slowed. It was a very warm day, cloudy but extremely humid, but Ian felt himself trembling as if he were cold and couldn't get warm. He slowly opened the door to the office, taking a deep breath as he stepped in, but there was no one sitting at the desk Trisha usually occupied.

Ian, determined to carry out his mission, went past the reception desk, heading back to where Salty's office was, but when he turned the corner in the hallway he stopped abruptly. Salty's office door was closed, and he heard voices coming from inside--the unmistakable low timbre of Salty's and a woman's voice that must've been Trisha's.

Again Ian heard that now all-too-familiar rushing in his ears that always accompanied some horrific realization. Of course it was Trisha. It had to be. Was there anything that could've been more obvious? The secretary. It was always the secretary.

He turned around and was about to walk out of the office, the bag with the lunch in it still in his hand, but something made him stop. He'd come here to be humble, and he was going to follow through, even if there was no point now.

Taking a sharpie from the cannister of pens on Trisha's desk, he wrote a quick message on the bag.

_J_  
I brought you lunch  
-I 

And he left it on the desk to be found later.

Then he got back in his car and drove home.

The house was still and quiet when he got back there, of course. Ian felt numb after all the anxiety and nerves he'd been feeling all morning--well, for weeks and months now, actually. In fact, he felt almost peaceful, as if a great weight had been lifted. At least he knew the truth, now, and he could face this reality not with the anger and petulance and inimical bitterness. He supposed he should be grateful to Salty for teaching him how to do this. Ian thought he understood now what people meant when they left relationships amicably. Ian had always viewed those attitudes as disingenuously mature, unable to imagine how, if you really loved someone, you could still act as though there was anything good that could come from losing him. But now he thought he knew. Because even if things ended this way, even if he was losing something--or had already lost it long ago through his own weakness and immaturity--that he'd thought would last forever, the loss had taught him something that he would remember for the rest of his life. Being with Salty had changed him irrevocably, and as he recognized this, he suddenly felt as if in one afternoon he had finally grown up.

He slowly made his way up the stairs, thinking about what he would do if he left--if he could be transferred to another ESPN station, perhaps, or make the transition to television that so many people in the field did. Maybe he could move back to Tucson or Phoenix--his parents would like that, he knew. He could afford a nice apartment on his own now, and there would be nothing to stop him from staying in West Palm Beach, for a while at least, while he decided what his next move would be.

They would probably have to have a talk before Ian moved out, but for the first time in a while Ian wasn't dreading the prospect of hearing what Salty had to say. He needed to hear it, he wanted to know what Salty had been feeling, he wanted to be the kind of person who could hear things that might break his heart but be strong enough, man enough to take them head on instead of trying to deflect or dismiss them.

He would miss this life, though. Ian went to the doorway of Salty's bedroom for the last time, thinking about what they had been planning when they bought it. He remembered their first night here, most of the rooms empty, boxes and cleaning supplies lying around everywhere, and the way Salty had held Ian's hand and walked him all the way through the house, making Ian imagine all the things that they'd eventually fill the house up with, the good times they would have, all in their very own house. Theirs. The house they were going to grow old in together.

Instead, Ian thought, the house had ended up being the catalyst that caused all the holes in their relationship to drive them apart. It had become the focal point of the necessity for secrecy that their life dictated at the same time that it had been the emblem of their growing material success, and the two could not coexist. Life had been so much simpler when they hadn't been worried about engaging with the world at large and concerned with the necessity of financial stability, but then they'd been living hand to mouth, too, with no thought for the future and how to provide for each other when their youth was over.

How did others do it? How did people balance responsibility and having to grow alongside another person? Ian supposed many of them failed, and they didn't even have the additional burden of having to live a lie in front of colleagues and friends and even family members.

Salty's bed looked so comfortable. Ian remembered wistfully those mornings when they got to sleep in on the weekends, the way he'd slowly awaken on his side, his face toward the window as sunlight filled up the room, the way the sheets and duvet felt weightless on top of him and his bare arms lay before his face, as if in sleep he'd been reaching for the light. And then he would feel Salty move, rolling over behind Ian and slipping his arm around Ian's middle, tucking his face into the back of Ian's neck, and Ian would be perfectly happy in that moment, the sun before him and Salty behind him, feeling safe and surrounded by warmth.

Ian wanted that one last time. It was past midday, of course, so he wouldn't have the sun or Salty, but Salty wouldn't be home for a while, yet, and he could pretend just for a little while.

He meant to climb into that big bed for just a minute, long enough to smell Salty on the sheets and close his eyes and remember what it had been like, this thing that was larger than life, that he'd always tried not to take for granted but had ended up doing anyway.

When he opened his eyes, Salty was kneeling by the side of the bed.

For a second Ian thought maybe it was a hallucination or a dream and he almost reached out to touch him. But then Salty spoke.

"Didn't mean to wake you up," he said quietly.

Ian felt like he should scramble up and mumble some kind of excuse, but his brain felt sluggish. "I didn't mean to fall asleep here," he said instead.

Salty looked like he was about to say something, but instead he reached up and touched Ian's cheek very briefly with his index finger, and then drew his hand back, still silent.

It was an affectionate gesture, but very timid, too, so different from the way Salty used to touch him--pulling him close, holding him tightly, squeezing and pressing and stroking him like a possessive child would with a beloved stuffed animal. Ian loved being handled that way.

"I left you lunch," Ian said, avoiding Salty's eyes and looking past his face toward the window. "Did you see?"

"Yeah," Salty said. "I came straight home when I saw. Wish you'd stayed to eat with me."

"Your office door was closed," Ian said. "Figured you were busy."

Salty didn't say anything, and Ian still couldn't quite bring himself to look directly at Salty's face. So he sat up, pushing the covers back, wishing he was wearing more than his boxers. This probably looked super creepy. "Look, we should talk," he said. "I know things have been--weird for a while now. I was thinking I could be out of here pretty soon. It wouldn't take long to find a new place and it might just make things easier for both of us--"

"If that's what you want," Salty said, his voice sounding rough, suddenly, and he stood up in one smooth motion so that he was towering above Ian.

"Well, what else would we do?" Ian said, looking up at him finally. "It feels like--we're strangers now."

"I didn't want it this way," Salty said.

"Do you think I did?" Ian said warily, not wanting to sound accusatory but afraid he would anyway.

Salty turned abruptly away from Ian, going toward the window and staring out of it.

"I don't know what happened," he said after a while. "I thought I was doing the right things. I thought things would get better if we had a little more money, a better place to live."

"Well, things are better," Ian said. "We're not in debt anymore. You've built a really good business. Everyone respects you. You do good work and people like you. You--you got me a job doing something I never thought I could do, and I'm great at it. I feel like I could go to my high school reunion now and other guys would wish they were me when they hear what I get to do every day."

"That's not what I meant," Salty said.

"Just tell me," Ian said miserably. "Is there--someone else?"

"What?" Salty said, turning around and eying Ian. "What are you talking about?"

Ian found that he couldn't ask again, since he really didn't want to hear the answer, and yet he felt that if he didn't know he might expire.

"Ian," Salty said solemnly, coming toward Ian and kneeling again in front of his knees, taking Ian's hands in his big, calloused ones. "Why would you ask that?"

"I don't know," Ian said inanely. "When I went to your office today I saw your door closed and heard Trisha's voice in there--"

"So you jumped right to me having a thing on the side?" Salty said.

"Well--the night we fought--you didn't even come home," Ian said, hating how pathetic that sounded.

Salty's grip on Ian's hands tightened for a moment, and when he spoke again his voice was quiet. "There's never been anyone but you, not since all those years ago, when you first invited me to your room in the Motel 6 to play poker with you and the guys. You looked up at me and smiled and I was a goner."

Ian could only stare at Salty dubiously.

"I fell asleep in my room at my parents' house the night we fought," Salty said.

Ian chuckled a little bit at that, but it came out sounding like a nervous gurgle. He swallowed deliberately. "I didn't mean anything I said that night," he said. "I wanted you to come home. I waited up for you all night. But it's like--we're never here at the same time, we never do anything together anymore, and that's--hard."

Salty looked up at Ian, and there they were, those big brown eyes, the eyes that Ian imagined seducing many a misunderstood housewife. But when Salty spoke he sounded so earnest that it seemed impossible that he could've ever spoken them to anyone before, and Ian's chest hurt listening to him.

"I've been trying to do all this for you," Salty was saying. "I want us to have a good life and to live as long as we can together. I wanted to be able to support you and give you things you wanted, but when things started going good we stopped seeing each other and you never came by to have lunch with me anymore and said no to everything we got invited to."

"I was doing that to protect you," Ian said explosively. "You don't think I wanted to come? I've been feeling like I'm barely part of your life anymore. I said no because I didn't want your reputation in this town to be something that hurt you and I didn't want people to say shit behind your back."

"But Ian," Salty said, "do you think I'd want to work for people who wouldn't accept me and what you are to me?"

"You don't even get it," Ian said, frustrated. "You don't know how fucking _mean_ people can be, the kinds of things they said about you on the team after you left--"

"Is that what you were afraid of?" Salty said quietly.

He was right. Maybe he hadn't been that way to protect Salty--maybe he'd just been protecting himself and his own fears all along.

"Ian, we were 20 years old back then," Salty said. "I don't care about that anymore and I don't think you should either."

"But people like them, they have the power to ruin people's lives," Ian said. "They almost ruined ours."

"Well, look, we haven't even seen any of those guys in almost 15 years now but you're still letting what they did hurt you and hurt us. Don't put that on yourself, baby."

Ian felt ashamed of himself.

"Hey," Salty said, reaching to push Ian's chin up and force him to look into Salty's eyes. "Do you love me?"

Ian nodded.

Suddenly Salty's face broke into a smile and he clutched at Ian's waist, burying his face in Ian's shirt and squeezing around his middle tightly. He held Ian like that for a moment and then he drew back looking up at Ian adoringly, and Ian lost his breath again, even though Salty wasn't squeezing it out of him anymore.

"Then the rest don't matter," Salty said simply.

"Doesn't it?" Ian said.

Salty's smile faded a little.

"When we lived in those shitty apartments we thought that was all that mattered," Ian said, "but there's also a reason we decided that wasn't enough. You kept saying you had to work hard and make some money for our future together, and to do that you had to build up your client base and work with other people no matter what their beliefs were about--about people like us. And then I needed a job too because--you remember how it was when I didn't have a job. It got so I could barely look you in the face, I was so fucking disgusted with myself. But now that I have a job and you have a job and we're both standing up and doing what the world says we need to be doing to take care of ourselves--we can't be what we want to be together, can we?"

"Ian," Salty said, "we can. If you'll stand beside me, we can."

Ian lowered his head again. "What about what you said about me?" he said. "About how I never think about how what I say and do affects you?"

"I wish I hadn't said that," Salty said. "I was mad because I've been feeling like you didn't ever want or need me around anymore and you didn't care about wanting to spend time with me and it was like everything I did pissed you off and...it fuckin' hurt."

"Well," Ian said, "You were right. I thought--I thought I was doing all this--watching you go out to golf and parties and everything without me--I thought I was doing it for you but I was afraid to go with you because of what people would think if they saw us together."

Salty stood up, then, and sat down next to Ian on the bed, reaching up to put his palm against Ian's cheek.

"None of it was any good without you. I want you to come with me to all those things," Salty said. "I wish I could put a ring on your finger so everyone knows that you're spoken for. I want to show you off and I love it when you come to the office and have lunch with me no matter who's there. But more than any of that--I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I've been trying to respect what you want and don't want, but don't ever think it's because I want us to have separate lives."

"I just want you to be with me," Ian said, feeling childish, but it was the simplest way to say what he felt. "That's all I need."

"I'm always with you, baby," Salty said. "'Cause all i want is for you to need me. If you don't need me there's no point to any of it."

It was Ian's turn to reach for Salty, putting his arms around Salty's neck and feeling for the first time in months the strength of Salty's shoulders under his hands.

"I missed you and I wish I hadn't said what I said," Ian said.

"I know," Salty said. "It's been hell."

Ian felt quivery with relief, so he didn't try to say anything more, just letting himself enjoy the feeling of having Salty's arms around him again. It was familiar but precious, like the feeling of coming home after a long time away.

After a few minutes, Ian found his voice again. "Well, there's one other thing I need."

"What's that?" Salty said, his voice low next to Ian's ear.

"Sex," Ian said, his voice muffled.

"Oh, thank God, I thought you'd never ask," Salty said, pulling back and reaching down to begin unbuttoning his work shirt.

"Why do you always wait for me to ask?" Ian said, a little grumpy. "You make me feel like I'm some kind of nymph--"

His mouth was smothered by Salty's, who kissed him so enthusiastically that he was knocked backwards onto his back, bouncing a little before Salty moved over him.

"Guh," Ian said, the noise coming out of him involuntarily.

"I missed you too," Salty said, looking down at Ian as he hovered over him. "I missed--" He leaned down abruptly to kiss Ian's neck, sucking a little on the skin there.

"Jarrod," Ian said breathlessly.

"Fuck, I'm hard already," Salty said, leaning back up on his knees to reach down and unbuckle his belt.

"You want me to blow you?" Ian said, a little hazily, trying to be generous and consider Salty's feelings.

"No," Salty said forcefully, "wanna be inside you." Ian felt his dick throb and he gulped. "And I want your legs up on my shoulders," Salty continued, "so you're bent in half and just fuckin'--screaming my name--"

"Holy f-fuck," Ian stuttered, reaching over to the night stand where the lube used to be kept, knocking a box of kleenex onto the floor in the process. "Where the fuck's the lube?"

"'S'gotta be in the drawer," Salty said, lifting one of Ian's legs up and running his hand over the inside part of Ian's thigh where the skin was softest. Ian tried to focus on his task, which was finding the bottle.

"Why is there so much crap in this drawer?" Ian said, frustrated, twisting his body around so he could get a better look.

"It's there if we left it there last time we fucked," Salty said, "'cause I haven't even jerked off since then."

"What?" Ian said, shocked into pausing for a moment.

"I couldn't barely get hard," Salty said. "I thought I was done for."

Ian pushed himself up on his hands, staring at Salty. Something that felt disconcertingly maternal welled up in him, which was probably entirely inappropriate given the context, but the fact that Salty's sex drive was so closely linked with his emotional state struck Ian as incredibly touching, and none of Salty's words had done more to convince him that Salty loved him.

"Come here," Ian said, beckoning, and Salty came, scooting forward on his knees so that he was right in front of Ian and their chests were nearly touching. Ian studied Salty's face from forehead to chin, reaching up to brush a few errant curls back, and then he strained up on his own knees to kiss Salty, moving slowly from his lips to his cheek, the line of his jaw, and then down under his chin.

"Ian," Salty said glowingly, delighted by this deliberate and careful display of almost platonic affection. In a slightly spastic, overeager motion that reminded Ian forcefully of a playful puppy, he twisted around and knocked Ian down in the bed, curling his big body around Ian's and kissing Ian back in just the same careful way that Ian had kissed him. When he drew back to look down at Ian, smiling, his demeanor shifted again, transforming from playful to god-like, and it was always like this, Ian thought, everything between them constantly shifting and reshaping so that together they became something different with every passing moment, a miraculous cycle of continuous metamorphosis.

But thoughts like that always unsettled Ian, so he pushed them away, closing his eyes and drawing Salty close so that he could hold on to him, feel how real he was. Once Ian led the way Salty knew just how to take over and carry them through, and it had always been like that between them.

They flipped over again so that Ian was on top, and Ian reached for the lube in the drawer, finding it more easily this time, now that he wasn't trying to reach behind himself. He uncapped it and squirted some into Salty's hands, and Salty drew Ian forward on his lap. Ian held onto Salty's shoulders as Salty reached between Ian's legs and touched him there, watching Ian's face as he fingered him. Ian always had trouble holding Salty's gaze when this was happening, but he forced himself to this time, his head flopping forward a little but still letting Salty see what he did to Ian, how helpless Ian became when Salty unlocked him in this way that was almost unbearably pleasurable.

"You're beautiful," Salty said quietly, and then kissed Ian again. Ian made a little gasp of pleasure, always very susceptible to compliments, which of course Salty knew, and it was so nice, Ian thought, having someone know him so well. He flopped forward, feeling his body melt against Salty's strength. Salty leaned forward, lowering Ian onto his back on the bed and grabbing one of the pillows to put under Ian's back, and then he pushed into Ian slowly. Ian could feel himself pulsing around Salty--it had been so long, so long that it almost felt new again, and Ian couldn't help closing his eyes then, wanting to just feel and not worry about where to look or if he were being looked at.

Salty moved achingly slowly, but he worked himself deeper and deeper, shifting and rocking against Ian until he reached that perfect place, prodding against it so fully that Ian did begin to say Jarrod's name over and over like he couldn't stop. It felt so achingly good, not quite enough to come but keeping Ian suspended in that place just before, and Salty kept gently rocking against Ian for so long, so long that Ian's muscles were twitching with exhaustion, his whole body damp with sweat and straining upward.

Then suddenly Salty said, " _Ian_ ," and Ian felt him drive in deeply, leaning over Ian and panting as he came, simultaneously reaching for Ian and enveloping him in his large hand.

Ian came too with an involuntary cry, and then Salty fell on top of him, crushing him down into the mattress, their sweaty bodies flush against each other as Salty slipped out.

"Happy birthday to me," Salty said, sounding awed, and Ian couldn't help but laugh.

They rested for a bit, the house quiet but for the sound of their breathing mingling. Ian felt drowsy again, sexually satisfied and emotionally spent, perfectly content now that Salty was lying so heavy and solid next to him.

Just as he was dozing off again, the late afternoon light making the room seem to glow a little, he heard Salty's voice as if from far away.

"You won't make me sleep alone ever again, will you?"

Ian smiled, his eyes still closed. "No," he said.

Because they would grow old together in this house; Ian was sure of that now.


End file.
